Della: Bride of Texas (American Mail-Order Bride 28) Read Online Free
Author: Trinity Ford
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Saga, Western, Short-Story, Texas, Religious, Christian, Inspirational, Cowboys, Bachelor, matchmaker, Marriage of Convenience, Faith, Community, victorian era, Forever Love, Single Woman, Banker, Fifty-Books, Forty-Five Authors, Newspaper Ad, American Mail-Order Bride, Factory Burned, Pioneer, Twenty-Eightth In Series, Fort Worth, Store Owner, Trouble Maker, Heartache
note of importance,” Pastor Littlejohn shouted from the pulpit, trying to herd everyone’s attention before they exited the church house. “I would like to see Milton Tidwell in my office immediately after the service, please.”
Hank watched as Milton Tidwell, his banker, filed into the small office. Hank figured it was news of the Massachusetts situation that Pastor Littlejohn had tried to rope him into. Hank had been approached with the idea of allowing a woman to come to the area as a prospective bride for him. For a few years, Pastor Littlejohn had been enjoying quite the success with his little matchmaking operation—bringing God-fearing women to town to settle down with the numerous bachelors. And it was working! Hannah had saved Samuel from self-destruction, Millie the midwife ended up with Hank’s best friend, Sheriff Lockhart, and Annabelle, the teacher, had married single father, Lee Collins, not too long ago, thanks to the good pastor. But Hank wasn’t about to roll the die with his future by being blindly matched with a woman he’d never met. He enjoyed his life too much to take that chance.
That sort of thing might be acceptable for men like Tidwell. Milton Tidwell was the town banker and perfectly fit the stereotype—constantly pulling out his pocket watch from the long, gold chain attached to his vest and flipping the cover to check the time. His pointed features and pursed lips made him consistently appear as if he saw or smelled something bad and he donned a top hat rather than the cowboy fare that most Fort Worth men wore. Yes, Hank thought, Tidwell probably decided he needed a wife to complete the perfect picture.
Tidwell’s black, oily and slicked back hair wasn’t exactly inviting to a woman’s touch and his stiff demeanor and dour personality made it difficult to get to know him. He wasn’t the type of man that women were clamoring to marry.
Hank’s lifestyle wasn’t attractive to respectable women, either. He knew people gossiped behind his back—especially the women. They talked about his drinking and his frequenting of the saloons in Hell’s Half Acre. Even though they had no idea how he really lived his days and nights, they assumed he was a hellion in his private life. That didn’t keep the women from flirting, though.
“Well, hel-l-l-o, Hank,” said Frieda Simmons as he walked out the door of the church. “Where have you been keeping yourself? You broke my heart when you weren’t at Sally’s party last weekend.”
Hank tipped his hat and grinned. “Well, Miss Simmons,” he drawled. “I must have been left off the invitation list. I’m sure it was just an oversight by Sally’s mother, don’t you?”
Frieda twirled her parasol as her mouth fell open at the bluntness of Hank’s answer. “Well…I…I’m sure I…”
“It’s okay, Miss Simmons,” Hank smiled, enjoying her squirming. “I found other things to keep me busy.” Hank glanced in the direction of Hell’s Half Acre and returned his gaze to Frieda.
“Well…I…,” Frieda continued, shocked even more by what he was insinuating.
Hank laughed aloud as he saw Frieda’s mother heading their way—lips pursed and eyebrows knitted together in a frown—coming to pluck her daughter from the company of the lecherous Hank Hensley. “I see you’re about to be wanted elsewhere, ma’am. Good day,” he said, tipping his hat again and abruptly walking away just in time to avoid the formidable Mrs. Simmons.
Milton Tidwell may be desperate, but Hank certainly wasn’t. He didn’t need someone to marry him. He hadn’t needed anyone in a long time and he was perfectly happy getting attention from those he knew best and who accepted him for exactly who he was.
Chapter 3
The last day of travel by train went by fast for Della Owens. She had befriended an older gentleman by the name of Carl Walton, who was passing through Fort Worth on his way farther out West.
Carl was dressed neatly in the fashion of
Hank watched as Milton Tidwell, his banker, filed into the small office. Hank figured it was news of the Massachusetts situation that Pastor Littlejohn had tried to rope him into. Hank had been approached with the idea of allowing a woman to come to the area as a prospective bride for him. For a few years, Pastor Littlejohn had been enjoying quite the success with his little matchmaking operation—bringing God-fearing women to town to settle down with the numerous bachelors. And it was working! Hannah had saved Samuel from self-destruction, Millie the midwife ended up with Hank’s best friend, Sheriff Lockhart, and Annabelle, the teacher, had married single father, Lee Collins, not too long ago, thanks to the good pastor. But Hank wasn’t about to roll the die with his future by being blindly matched with a woman he’d never met. He enjoyed his life too much to take that chance.
That sort of thing might be acceptable for men like Tidwell. Milton Tidwell was the town banker and perfectly fit the stereotype—constantly pulling out his pocket watch from the long, gold chain attached to his vest and flipping the cover to check the time. His pointed features and pursed lips made him consistently appear as if he saw or smelled something bad and he donned a top hat rather than the cowboy fare that most Fort Worth men wore. Yes, Hank thought, Tidwell probably decided he needed a wife to complete the perfect picture.
Tidwell’s black, oily and slicked back hair wasn’t exactly inviting to a woman’s touch and his stiff demeanor and dour personality made it difficult to get to know him. He wasn’t the type of man that women were clamoring to marry.
Hank’s lifestyle wasn’t attractive to respectable women, either. He knew people gossiped behind his back—especially the women. They talked about his drinking and his frequenting of the saloons in Hell’s Half Acre. Even though they had no idea how he really lived his days and nights, they assumed he was a hellion in his private life. That didn’t keep the women from flirting, though.
“Well, hel-l-l-o, Hank,” said Frieda Simmons as he walked out the door of the church. “Where have you been keeping yourself? You broke my heart when you weren’t at Sally’s party last weekend.”
Hank tipped his hat and grinned. “Well, Miss Simmons,” he drawled. “I must have been left off the invitation list. I’m sure it was just an oversight by Sally’s mother, don’t you?”
Frieda twirled her parasol as her mouth fell open at the bluntness of Hank’s answer. “Well…I…I’m sure I…”
“It’s okay, Miss Simmons,” Hank smiled, enjoying her squirming. “I found other things to keep me busy.” Hank glanced in the direction of Hell’s Half Acre and returned his gaze to Frieda.
“Well…I…,” Frieda continued, shocked even more by what he was insinuating.
Hank laughed aloud as he saw Frieda’s mother heading their way—lips pursed and eyebrows knitted together in a frown—coming to pluck her daughter from the company of the lecherous Hank Hensley. “I see you’re about to be wanted elsewhere, ma’am. Good day,” he said, tipping his hat again and abruptly walking away just in time to avoid the formidable Mrs. Simmons.
Milton Tidwell may be desperate, but Hank certainly wasn’t. He didn’t need someone to marry him. He hadn’t needed anyone in a long time and he was perfectly happy getting attention from those he knew best and who accepted him for exactly who he was.
Chapter 3
The last day of travel by train went by fast for Della Owens. She had befriended an older gentleman by the name of Carl Walton, who was passing through Fort Worth on his way farther out West.
Carl was dressed neatly in the fashion of
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